Subscribe to this blog

Follow by Email

Search This Blog

This isn't my only blog. I also write a blog for PoshTots.com, about all things baby and child and mom. It focuses mostly on decor and gear -- it appeals to the mom in me. Especially the nostalgic mother whose babies are growing up too fast.

This is one I wrote for them, but it fits here too. And it makes me think of my grandparents, who regrettably didn't get to meet these great-grandchildren of theirs. It especially makes me think of my grandmother Rachel and the many, many fond memories of the times I spent with her. After I wrote this entry, I found myself recalling those memories, especially the time I spent sitting on her lap, while she stroked my hair -- my favorite thing. And it occurred to me...that was the rocker in this article. Or maybe it wasn't. No matter. It's a piece of her that I got to share with my children. And one day, hopefully, they will share with their own children.

Nursery Necessities: Rockin' Out As an expectant mother, I turned to a rocking chair I had acquired from my paternal grandmother’s house after her death. We used it in our guest room, and when the time came to decorate the nursery, there was no question as to the location of its new home. It wasn’t especially beautiful — in truth, there was nothing at all remarkable about it. I have no earthly idea where the chair lived at her house, so it wasn’t that it was especially nostalgic either. But it was the right size, in great condition and, to me anyway, it was a way to envelope my new little one in the arms of family — and a way to somehow share this experience with my beloved grandparents.

Now that I’m not using it any longer — my third child long ago outgrowing the need for a rocker — it waits in the attic. For what, I’m not entirely certain. Time will tell.

But I can’t get rid of it. It’s where I spent countless hours snuggling, cuddling, comforting, nursing. My fondest memories of my children as babies fill the seat of that rocker. It’s overflowing with all the special moments my husband and I shared with them. Nights spent awake, feeling like we were the only two people in the world as we rocked and snuggled in the quiet house…

That rocker, sitting in the attic, is chock-full of the most precious memories. Mothers, fathers, grandparents and great grandparents have warmed the seat of that rocker. The wisps of thousands of lullabies sung there hover just overhead. They'll probably have to bury me with that rocking chair.

One day, it will be delivered of its home far off in storage. And in its arms, a new generation will be born.